Taken for a Ride
by Cairistona
Summary: M. Chauvelkin has car trouble and SP takes him for a ride, quite literally. AU with cars.


**Taken for a Ride**

Greetings all who read this! I did a piece of SP fiction for BaronessOrc's "55 Fiction Challenge". My piece was called Car-Ride, and this is a continuation of it; it was too much fun to stay short! (Some of you who read my 55fic piece wanted to see Chauvelin's face, well, now you shall see it.)

* * *

The sports-car tore through the roads of France. Passing an alley, it slowed just a fraction. From the alley a black sedan came in all hot haste.

The sports-car sped up and leaped away; the sedan lost ground before spluttering and failing.

Sir Percy glanced at his rearview mirror, "I do believe Chauvelin's having car trouble." he drawled.

"How unfortunate!" laughed Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, who'd siphoned the petrol from Chauvelin's car while Chauvelin had waited in an alley, quite unaware of Sir Andrews doings. "I say we switch our license-plates and offer him a lift."

"Wicked proposition!" Percy looked positively horrified then a grin spread across his face. "Let's do it!"

They changed the plates and went quickly round the block.

"Watch out," Sir Percy warned, grinning. He sped his car up before he brought it, brakes squealing, right up beside Chauvelin's sedan.

Chauvelin, enraged at the near collision, jumped from his car to lambaste whatever _aristo_ had dared to almost assault his auto. The words died on his lips when he saw the driver.

"La! . . . er . . . M. Chauvelin. . . . I vow I never thought of meeting you here." Sir Percy drawled.

Chauvelin stood and stared incredulously at the Englishman. Yet another bold move. The impudence was fairly unnerving.

"I am sorry. . ." Sir Percy continued, "so very sorry. . .I seem to have nearly run into you. . .quite inadvisable…parking in the road. . .er. . .Hm!--a friend of mine died once. . . er. . .rear-ended. . .badly"

Chauvelin continued to stare down at him, disbelieving his eyes.

"La!" said Sir Percy, with a good-humoured grin, "It _**is **_most inadvisable, M. Chauberline, to park in the middle of the road."

"Pardon me-- Chauvelin."

"I beg pardon--a thousand times. Yes--Chauvelin of course. . . . Er. . .I never could cotton to foreign names. . . ."

Chauvelin began to feel like choking. He'd planned everything out perfectly: wait in the alley for the wretched Pimpernel to speed by, tear after the wretched Pimpernel, rear-end him with his re-enforced bumper and send him off the road, then come to 'apologize' and catch him red-handed with some incriminating evidence. Now the abominable man was here as Sir Percy, all innocent and… and he'd changed his license-plates, too.

Sir Percy was calmly sitting in the driver's seat, smiling with pleasant good-humour, as if he had come all the way to Calais for the express purpose of enjoying a nice drive and nearly running into his arch-enemy then chatting with him.

Chauvelin endeavored to recover himself. "I really didn't park in the road," he said, putting a light-heartedness into his words, "I rather ran out of petrol," as he said it, the thought occurred to him that he'd filled that tank up completely before setting out…that it shouldn't have gone empty…that Percy had driven past him…

"That's quite an…er…uncomfortable thing to …have happen," Sir Percy was saying jovially,

"I. . .hem. . .yes." stammered Chauvelin. Percy's calm impudence was throwing him off balance. Percy must have known…no. He didn't just know; he must have done it. And to have come back…! Percy was trying to make a fool of him!

Sir Andrew observed the colour of Chauvelin's face. A nice seething, slightly purple, enraged colour. Most satisfactory. He'd dared not smile, but within he was trembling with laughter.

Sir Percy looked all the more inane. "We must…er…offer you're a ride then! It…ah…wouldn't do to leave you unaided."

"Oh, you think so?" that excuse of a cravat at Chauvelin's neck was trembling ever so slightly.

"Yes! Of course! … Quite bad form, nearly running into someone in trouble and not helping them. . . . I hope you don't mind?"

MIND? Chauvelin minded exceedingly, enraged that his enemy had thwarted him and had the boldness to come flaunt it in his face. Bad form? Ha!

But Chauvelin was in sore need of a ride. Few would want to give _him_ a ride, nor would he expressly wish to ride in their nasty little rundown vehicles.

"No, no, not at all!" said Chauvelin, forcing an urbane manner, "But you must not trouble yourself to take a detour on my behalf."

"La! We'd be delighted to, M. Chaubertin. . .er… Chauvelin. Wouldn't we Sir Andrew?"

"Quite!" was all Sir Andrew could say.

"You are on your way to Paris, Sir Percy?" Chauvelin asked carelessly.

"Ah, no," replied Blakeney, with a laugh. "I've said before--no Paris for me . . . beastly uncomfortable place Paris!"

"Hem, quite, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin, sarcastically, rather bitter about his loss.

"La! Well! Take the back-seat Sir Andrew. We must…er… let M. Chauvelan, have the honour."

Sir Andrew good-naturedly got out. Chauvelin got in.

"I am in no hurry," said Percy, pleasantly, "but, la! I don't want to spend any more time than I can help in this most objectionable hole! Quite unpleasant these streets are, too…er…lots of potholes…Er…do buckle up, Sir Andrew."

Sir Andrew smiled. He'd already done so, conjecturing exactly how Sir Percy intended to drive.

Fast.

And he would manage to hit many potholes on dear Chauvelin's side of the car.

Ah, yes, this would be good.

Percy drove at top speed down the wretched road, prattling blithely as he went.

"…Ah, but I am in a marvelous mood today! You do know that Scarlet Pimpernel poem I made up? That marvelously witty thing… ah, well, I have composed another poem! La! You do know about that Revolutionary fellow in France…er… What's-His-Name Robespeecan? No, no that's not it… er…"

"Robespierre?" Sir Andrew offered.

"Oh, dear! Is that it? What a misfortune…eh, what? I was so sure… well, now, since it _is_ 'Robespierre', I'm afraid it won't rhyme and so it won't be any good at all. So sorry to disappoint you, M. Chauvelkin…"

"Chauvelin!"

"Ah…yes… of course; that's it. Well, I shall have to rewrite the whole thing… what? When will I ever have to do that? … I mean…"

Chauvelin began to clutch the handle of the door. He should have walked. Or he should have thumbed a ride in one of those little, rattletrap Volkswagens. Surely this couldn't be worse.

Then it got worse.

Sir Percy sped his car up even more and swerved around an SUV.

Desgas's SUV. Desgas, Chauvelin's secretary and confidential factotum…!

Sir Percy honked the horn and the first bars of the English Anthem blared out.

Chauvelin cringed. Then he seethed.

"Let me out." He ordered, "Now!!!"

"Sink me, don't tell me you-"

"NOW!"

"Well… er … if you say so…" Sir Percy brought the car to a screeching halt.

Chauvelin sprang out and slammed the door.

"So sorry you don't like my … er …car. Really, it's quite a nice little thing. Especially the leather upholstery; it gives it a sort of something… sort of… er…"

Chauvelin was gone.

"Well." Said Sir Percy beaming, "I daresay that was quite an enjoyable ride, Sir Andrew. Wouldn't you?"

"Quite." Said Sir Andrew.


End file.
